


You Owe Me Yourself

by Necronon



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Will, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necronon/pseuds/Necronon
Summary: Will has never had to share his things. He doesn't see why the same shouldn't apply to Hannibal.





	You Owe Me Yourself

Will stood on a shallow dune that overlooked the ocean and searched for a lone figure in the water. The waves were formidable that day, great swells that came two at a time and crested too near the shore. Turbulent waters that found even seasoned swimmers dragged beneath and pitched brutally against the seabed, only to be rolled onto the shore raw or sucked back out into another swell. Broken necks and drownings were not unheard of.

Hannibal had warned him to keep away from the southern beach where riptides formed near an inlet and outcropping of land, advice that Will hadn’t needed. He knew the sea, though of late he found himself estranged from it. He neither swam nor occupied the beach.

Hannibal swam daily with few exceptions. Will spotted him now, the white blot of his shoulders and hooked arms cutting through the waves as if he meant to conquer them. He was far enough out to avoid the violence nearer to shore, but Will couldn’t suppress a gnawing anxiety as he looked on. It had only been two months since their implausible deliverance from the Atlantic. A species of uneasiness had followed him out like afterbirth: a sort of acute perseverance which seemed irrational in the wake of his martyrdom.

It seemed the only thing the Atlantic had washed away was his friable propriety. He had come out of the ocean numb—from the cold and the act itself—and naive with a dangerous brand of candor. A submission to impulse, the same impulse that had saved himself and Hannibal, had pulled them up past the strand-line with obstinate abandon.

He felt inexplicably angry that Hannibal was swimming there, then. That he was being so careless after Will had spent the better half of a week suffused with dread by his bedside. That, after everything, he still failed to contain Hannibal with his words, his hands. He wasn’t sure, even, why it mattered so much that he did. Hannibal had always been an outlier, an unknown variable given to entropy. A coin toss of a man that, while completely able to command his faculties and those of others, just as often left them to the wind to satisfy his whims.

Hannibal, timing his approach between two smaller swells, waded back to shore, looking like some kind of apparition as he padded across the sand, body still too thin and pale for Will’s liking. His silver hair plastered itself to his his cheeks and brow, framing his sharper features. It was longer now than Will had ever seen it, reaching just to the line of his jaw when laying straight.

Hannibal, mouth open around his labored breaths, paused when he spotted Will watching him. He swallowed, inhaled sharply, then said, “Will,” more like a gasp than a name.

Not to initiate conversation, just an acknowledgment; Will hadn’t said much more than _yes_ , _no,_ and _I don’t know_ since their arrival in South America. He didn’t know how to verbalize his thoughts and feelings anymore. They were strange to him, precarious. Volatile. He didn’t want to give power to something unchecked. Hannibal seemed at the center of them all.

Hannibal looked back at him, waiting for rejoinder like he always did, but Will only pressed his lips together and glanced behind him. Then Hannibal drew closer, Will observing the beads of moisture caught in the hairs on his chest as he did so.

“You look unwell.”

Will forced his eyes up. There it was, gnawing, gnawing, that cloying frustration, and Hannibal so placid, even affecting concern like—“I don’t want you swimming out here anymore.”

Hannibal adjusted his head, a curious gesture that looked all the more absurd with his partial nudity and soggy hair. “Is that an order?”

Will wanted to shake him. “No.” Why did he say that? Then, when Hannibal threatened one of those little half smiles, Will said, “It’s dangerous. Why in the hell can’t you just wait until tomorrow, when it’s not about to storm.”

“You were concerned,” Hannibal said, questioning. A cautious implication.

“Wasn’t drowning once enough?”

“I didn’t,” Hannibal said. “We didn’t.”

“Don’t start with the semantics. Come back to the house.” Will wasn’t sure where his voice was suddenly coming from, but once the dam was broken, he couldn’t stop.

“My outings have the dual purpose of additionally providing you with privacy.”

“Why do you think I need privacy?”

“You’ve been,” Hannibal said, squinting, “closed to me.”

“Closed,” Will said.

“Yes.”

As if to prove his point, Hannibal reached out a hand, causing Will to flinch and stiffen. The hand fell away.

“I’m not—” He felt a knot form in his throat. His mouth was dry. God damn it, why was he feeling this way? And he was so angry.

Will turned and trudged over the dune and back towards the house. If Hannibal followed, he couldn’t tell.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that evening, Will set himself to the mundane task of laundry. Anything to keep idleness at bay, to keep from having to analyze what the hell was going on. He could smell something caramelizing in the kitchen and knew that Hannibal was fussing over dinner.

After loading the machine, he made a beeline for the small en-suite bathroom that attached itself to the guest room where, after Hannibal had sufficiently recovered, he’d started sleeping. He showered, aggressively scrubbing down his body, and stepped out onto cold tile. The connecting door was ajar to let the steam vent.

“I’ve set the table,” Hannibal said, and Will skid and barely caught himself on the sink counter.

It took Will several seconds to recover from his surprise, and several more to realize Hannibal was helping to hold him upright, hands like hot brands on his shoulder and waist. Will shot a look over his shoulder and let out a shuddering breath, frowning until he saw Hannibal’s glazed expression—and where he was looking, which for all the world appeared to be down his back, or—

“Hey,” Will said incredulously.

Hannibal’s eyes shot up, as if he hadn’t realized he’d been staring. “I’m sorry, Wi—”

It was different than the perfunctory nudity, those times he’d stripped Hannibal to tend wounds or help him bathe, or vice-versa. Different than the single bed they’d often shared out of necessity, because there had only been one and they both had been so fatigued and used up. This was with intent, with interest. It was a conscious decision when he turned—an amalgam of curiosity and indulgence.

His reward was Hannibal’s measured exhale and widening eyes, hands hovering near Will’s bare torso as if he was uncertain if he should replace them.

Will felt a giddy prickling at the base of his spine. The knot in his gut sank lower and sat heavily, his chest fluttering. He grabbed one of Hannibal’s hesitant hands and brought it back to his waist, slowly pressing it just above the juncture of his hip. Watching Hannibal watch him.

Hannibal tracked his hand, gaze lifting as he explored a small swatch of flesh beneath his thumb when Will remained still. It was the most minimal contact, but Will had to close his eyes against the intensity of it. Those hands again, ardent, always needing permission to express _more_. Will had given Hannibal that permission on the bluff. Now he was doing it again, only there was no Red Dragon to justify his clipped breath and frantic pulse.

“Will,” Hannibal said, always saying his name, “use your words.” Desperation had added a reedy quality to his voice. It filled the room, existed between every molecule of Will’s being.

Will didn’t have any words. Not yet. He grabbed Hannibal’s other hand and brought it near enough to press his face into the palm and inhaled the scent of shallots and thyme, a clean bouquet underscored with something distinctly Hannibal. His eyes flicked up over the edge of Hannibal’s hand to assess him, and Hannibal looked positively rapt.

Will made a soft noise of satisfaction before he could help himself, an almost comical hiccup into Hannibal’s compliant palm. He didn’t have words, only his mouth. Only the dissolution of the few inches between them and a bare thigh up between wool-clad ones so that he felt Hannibal’s physical ardor as much as his mental one, the hardening press of encouragement against his hip to complement the hard press of mouths.

Will crossed that invisible barrier that he’d shied away from so many months ago, waiting to fall. There hadn’t been time enough to savor it.

He’d only ever thought of it sparingly, though increasingly since their dive. Sex with a man was a convoluted and not terribly appealing idea, the logistics of which he wasn’t entirely sold on. And yet, he commonly slid into inappropriate fantasizing when Hannibal upped the sleeves on his arms to fillet meat or waded out of the water, lean and ferocious. Will’s mind was prone to wander, and worse, so he hadn’t worried too much about it.

“Is this something you want?” Hannibal asked, as if reading his thoughts. They were pushed together, but Hannibal wasn’t allowing either of them much movement.

Will huffed, desperate to engage, to throw the switch on his insecurities. _T_ _hose_ _expanisve_ _hands, ever warm, and the round of his thigh against his—_

“Will,” Hannibal admonished, and Will grit his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Yes.” _Maybe._ “Touch me.”

“Tell me to stop if—”

Will snatched Hannibal’s head between his hands and sucked wantonly at the ruddy shape of his lips. When Hannibal gasped softly, his tongue found space inside, curling against the backs of sharp teeth. Hannibal must have overcome whatever reservations he’d been harboring, because the woolen thigh between Will’s leg pressed forward insistently. It made him ache.

Will broke their kiss with a hiss that withered into a low moan.

“Yes,” Hannibal said into the crook of his neck, agreeing to Will. To all of it.

“How long have you—”

“Since Tier.”

He groaned. Had Hannibal been hungering after him—like that—all this time? “How do we—”

“Whatever you—”

“I want—”

“ _Tell me._ ”

_A hand was between them now, on him, pulling languidly. His hips jerked. He was wet. A thumb, sliding, sensitive—_

“ _I_ _-_ _want_ _-_ _to_ _-_ _fuck_ _-_ _you_ _,_ ” he rasped in a single, hurried breath.

“My mouth?” Hannibal said, already falling to his knees with an exuberance that made Will lean forward expectantly. “Or...” Hannibal was looking up at him, wetting his lips.

“Oh, _God. Yes._ ” It wasn’t a real answer, but Hannibal obliged, sinking right down on him. _Time waits for no man,_ Will thought hysterically, then reflexively bucked into the channel of Hannibal’s throat, bottoming out immediately.

Hannibal choked and moaned around him, eyes fluttering closed before flitting back up, predatory, to watch Will as he set a pace. Will could feel the weight of his gaze as much as the reverberations of his strangled voice through his groin, sending involuntary tremors up his body. He shook and his muscles contracted, abdomen tight. A fist twisted in gray-blonde hair.

His climax was mounting fast. It would be so easy, to finish like this, in and on Hannibal’s beautifully flushed face, but he wanted the rest of him, too. He wanted that long, lean body bent beneath him, over the island, in the bed, over his immaculate desk. All that violence and strength opening up for him.

He wanted Hannibal Lecter, on his back. On his hands and knees. _Wanted him._

“No one e-else,” Will said, voice punched through by the slow pistoning of his hips. “Just me.”

He was close now. The fingers digging into his hips and ass were cruel but distant. God, he was close—he— “ _Hannibal—_ ”

Will seized with want when Hannibal pulled off him and whispered hoarsely against the moist head of his dick, “Show me,” pumping the base in a tight fist, lips shining with saliva and _Will_.

Will cried out and came, thick ribbons of ejaculate looping over Hannibal’s parted lips and across the bridge of his nose. Catching in the fringe of his damp hair. It felt like forever, the aftershocks riding through his body and pushing up reverent whimpers from his diaphragm. His ears buzzed. His cock gave a last, half-hearted twitch when Hannibal opened his eyes and ran his tongue over his bottom lip to taste Will’s work, and what work it was.

A tableau of sex, not death.

Hannibal was a mess. Will was astonished there had been so much. Even Hannibal’s button-up shirt hadn’t been spared, the excess that had run from the good doctor’s chin obvious on the dark maroon collar.

The trappings of embarrassment were finally starting to creep up on Will now, but before he could act on it, Hannibal rose and covered his mouth with his own; an acrid, biting kiss that he tried to turn his head out of only to be held fast in place. Hannibal kissed him until he was dizzy, pulling off his lips with a wet suck that made him shudder. He belatedly realized Hannibal was still hard. He could feel the burgeoning length of it against his hip.

“What about—”

“Later,” Hannibal said, holding his face in his hands, eyes hooded with affection and inexorable lust.

“Tonight?”

“Will you be able?”

“I don’t know.” Will licked his lips and considered. “Probably. I want—”

“You’ll have it.”

Will supposed he should have felt dubious about Hannibal’s unadulterated acquiescence. Perhaps there were some things that he ought not have, that he should be denied for the both of them. But, the future seemed for the moment a far away and inconsequential matter.

They had much to discuss, but he couldn’t worry about that now. There was dinner. And after, Hannibal, however he wanted him. And oh, he was hungry. So hungry.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I art, too. Drop by on [tumblr](http://thenecronon.tumblr.com/).


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